A Serjeant's Worry
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: Or How Sally met Sherlock. Honey 'Verse
1. The Triple Murder

**Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Though I wouldn't mind taking Lestrade. I'd say Sherlock but if I did John might mistake me for a cabbie.**

**A/N: Part of the Honey 'Verse. Explains a bit of why Sally has issues with Sherlock. Also small crossover again. Borrowed the crime from an episode of Crossing Jordan. It's not exactly like that episode because I've only seen it once and now I can't remember the name of the episode to watch it again but hey, it's recognizable.**

**The Triple Murder**

Serjeant Sally Donovan stared disinterestedly at the crowds of people gawking towards the underground parking garage behind her. Why did so many people find crime scenes fascinating? The police line was usually far enough away that they couldn't see the bodies so gawking at crime scenes seemed rather boring to her.

A pocket of movement caught her attention and she watched as the crowd moved to the sides in waves. Suddenly the waves reached where she stood at the edge of the police line and a tall dark haired man stood before her. He was handsome, in a way, she decided. Not exactly her type but still not bad. Tall, very tall, sharp features and curly dark hair that fell haphazardly into his grey eyes. His clothes were of a very good quality. The man wasn't looking at her but instead over her head at the garage. Just another gawker then.

His eyes shifted to her like a striking snake. "Where's the DI?" Sally almost didn't hear him over the crowd. "Never mind, I see him now." The tall man patiently waited in front of her without saying anything else while Sally gaped at him. How could he possibly know the DI on sight?

Sally felt Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade brush past her and then watched incredulous as he offered his hand to shake. "Sherlock, you came."

"Obviously, Lestrade," the man's voice was a deep baritone that gave Sally shivers. It was a bedroom voice.

Lestrade's smile hardened. "You still clean?" Lestrade voice was as hard as his smile. Sally felt her heart sink but she should have known. It wasn't as though she didn't have personal experience with drug addicts. She should be able to spot one, even an apparently recovering one. The man couldn't have been off the drugs for very long or the DI wouldn't have had to ask though he wasn't fidgeting or skittish so he had been clean at least a month, maybe more. Either that or he wasn't clean. She eyed him shrewdly, looking for signs of drug use and couldn't find any.

It clicked for her then though, how this junkie knew the DI. Lestrade sometimes mentored drug addicts as they tried to get clean. Not very often but occasionally he'd help out; at least until the addict could find a support system. Sally had seen and known way too many drug addicts turn back to their drugs to even attempt it but she respected the DI's attempts. She'd tried once and that had ended in tragedy. She shook the thoughts of Dirk away, again.

The tall man sneered, moments ago Sally would have found it charming now it only made his face contort in ways that made her think of a junkie missing his fix. "Of course. You and Mycroft threatened me if I wasn't. Three months yesterday, Lestrade, as promised." He pulled in a deep breath and his face blanked. "What do you have for me?"

The gray haired Detective Inspector studied the taller, younger man for a moment and then flashed him a proud grin. Another thought hit Sally with that grin and she prayed that the DI wasn't related to this junkie, it would not be good for his career, she would know. Connections to a drug addict were the reason she was still a serjeant. Then Lestrade started speaking again and Sally's thoughts screeched to a halt. "Good. We have a triple homicide."

"A triple? Really?" A smile started to form on Sherlock's face. A smile of pleasure and anticipation. "Those are fairly rare."

"Stop looking so happy, Sherlock." Lestrade scolded without any heat. "It's not decent. Yes, a triple homicide. My forensics expert says that they each shot one of the others but I don't know, Sherlock…something doesn't fit."

"Sir?" Sally interrupted as Lestrade held up the crime scene tape for Sherlock to duck under. "Is it really appropriate to give a junkie information about an active crime scene?" She couldn't keep the derision from her voice. She couldn't stand junkies. Not since Dirk…why were those memories choosing today to haunt her?

Lestrade stopped and glared at her, the tall man next to him simply glanced at her and then looked away with his blank face never even flickering. "I'm not just giving Sherlock information, Donovan; I'm giving him access to the scene itself. Lord knows he'll probably solve our little triple in one tenth of the time we could."

Sherlock started minutely and stared at Lestrade. Sally gaped at them both. "Sir…really, this is not…well, it's not wise. The Superintendent would have a fit."

Sherlock scoffed. "Not if he values his job, he won't."

"Sherlock," Lestrade's voice was warning. "Leave it alone, Donovan. The Superintendent isn't going to say anything about it. C'mon, Sherlock." He motioned the other man towards the underground parking lot.

The two men passed her and headed towards the forensics team. Sally shook her head and trailed after them. She didn't like this at all. Not only was this unprofessional but junkies were dangerous to those that cared about them. She paused for a moment on the edge of the garage and let the memories take her. Just for a moment. Lord knows she dreamed about Dirk often enough she didn't need him taking over her daytime too.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

"I promise, Sally, I'm through with all of it," Dirk told her when she picked him up at the rehab center. "I swear I won't even think about touching the heroin again."

"All right, Dirk," 20 year old Sally Donovan agreed. "I believe you." Her diamond engagement ring glinted in the sun as she spun the steering wheel of the car and merged into the traffic.

That had been the first time Dirk made those promises but certainly not the last. It seemed as though Sally spent the next two years visiting or picking Dirk up from rehab centers and jail. Until that day, nearly the end of her first year with the Met, that she'd come home and found Dirk barely breathing in the kitchen the needle laying oh so innocently beside him.

"Dirk!" Sally shouted, fear pulsing through her.

"Sals," Dirk said so lowly she nearly didn't hear him. "I'm sorry." Sally had knelt down next to him, instinct taking over as she checked his pulse. It was slow and thready. "So sorry, Sals."

"You're going to be all right, Dirk," Sally sobbed knowing that she was lying. "Just hold on!" She quickly dialed 999 and told them the situation. Dirk's eyes rolled in his head and he slumped further against the floor. "Dirk! Wake up!"

Dirk's brown eyes fluttered. "Love you, Sals." And then his breathing had stopped. The medics couldn't do anything once they'd arrived. Dirk was gone.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

Sally shook off the memories as much she ever did and hurried to catch up to the two men. She liked the DI, he was a good man. She would do what she could to save Lestrade's job after the Superintendent caught wind of this but she couldn't do much if she didn't keep an eye on the junkie.

By the time she caught up to them they were already crouching next to the first body. Tall men with their long legs were the bane of her existence.

Lestrade and Sherlock were murmuring to each other and their low voices finally caught Anderson's attention. "What's going on? Who's this?" He strode over to stand next to Sally.

"A junkie the DI brought in to prove you wrong," Sally told him. She knew she'd emphasized the junkie part but she didn't care. She also knew that the dig at Anderson's professional opinion would place the man firmly against Sherlock.

"What?" Anderson screeched. "Lestrade!" He stepped towards the two men. "Have you lost your mind? You can't bring a junkie to a crime scene!"

Lestrade rose to his full height while Sherlock stayed kneeling and observed the body as though he hadn't even heard Anderson. No one but Lestrade noticed the slight tensing of Sherlock's shoulders and it irritated Lestrade that these two would question his authority in front of the object of their ire. They had no business saying such things in front of Sherlock. "Anderson!" Lestrade barked. "Who I chose to bring onto my crime scenes in none of your business. If you have a problem with him being here on my authority then you discuss it with me later. And he's a consultant."

"And a junkie," Sally reminded. Lestrade shot her a glare.

"Lestrade!" Anderson whined again, bringing Lestrade's attention back to himself. "We don't need a consultant! I've already told you they killed each other over drugs, probably."

Sherlock had risen to his feet and was making his way to the second body. He stopped as he heard Anderson and turned around, slowly. "Over drugs, really?" He asked smoothly, his voice dark.

"You see, sir?" Sally turned to Lestrade, her expression knowing. "He's probably trying to figure out a way to steal the drugs."

Sherlock snorted. "What drugs?" He asked. He turned back around and continued on his way to the second body grabbing a pair of latex gloves as he passed them.

"What do you mean 'what drugs', Sherlock?" Lestrade called after him.

"Obvious, Lestrade." Sherlock answered.

"Not to me, it isn't!"

Sherlock crouched down on the far side of the body and glanced up at them. "Your forensics expert didn't find any drugs or any evidence of them either. He's making assumptions."

Lestrade frowned and glared at Anderson. "Anderson." He growled out.

Anderson spluttered for a moment before finally answering. "Just because we haven't found them doesn't mean this wasn't about drugs. I mean look at the three of them, a black man in his forties, an elderly woman, and a teenager. What else could these three people be meeting about?"

Lestrade's frown deepened. "Anderson, you are supposed to be a scientist. Don't make assumptions based on your preconceived notions."

"Impressive, Lestrade," Sherlock drawled. "So many multisyllabic words. How long until your tiny little brain reboots?" He gave the third body, the teenage male, a cursory glance, whipped off his gloves and pulled out his phone.

"Shut up, Sherlock." Lestrade's tone was equal parts frustration and affection.

Sherlock looked up from his phone with a smirk. "If you insist." He turned his attention back to his phone.

The three police officers stood for a few moments staring at him. "Sherlock?" Lestrade finally asked. "You got anything?"

Sherlock didn't look up from his phone as he gave a short, sharp nod.

Again silence filled the parking garage. Sally finally broke it when it became too uncomfortable. "Sir? What is this junkie supposed to be doing? I mean besides texting his dealer. He's obviously high now." She didn't actually think he was but if Lestrade believed her then maybe she could save his career before he threw it down the toilet.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade ignored her and walked over to stand across the old woman's body from the other man. "Are you going to tell me?"

Sherlock lifted his eyes to Lestrade. "You told me to shut up."

"Honestly, Sherlock, how old are you? Five?" Lestrade laughed. "Now tell me what you've deduced please."

"Fine. You should be looking for the fourth member of this little group. The four of them somehow came into possession of a diamond and pearl necklace from a jewelry store heist a few weeks ago. The thieves were caught and all of the jewelry recovered except this necklace." He held his phone up with a picture of an expensive diamond and pearl necklace on the screen. "These three were killed somewhere else and brought here to stage a supposed three way killing. The trajectories are wrong for them to have shot each other. They're close but not exact and they were all three shot by the same gun not the three different ones here." He paused as his phone beeped but he ignored it. "You'll also want to talk to the hostess at Hawksmoor Seven Dials that was on duty last night. They ate there not long before they were killed. I'd estimate they were killed around midnight last night. Have you identified them yet? And where is the woman's purse?"

Lestrade, completely unsurprised, opened his mouth to respond but Anderson cut him off. "How could you possibly know all that?"

Sally couldn't even get her tongue to work.

Lestrade snapped his mouth shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Go ahead, Sherlock."

Sherlock's smile became a predatory grin, the phone went in his pocket and he started pacing. One hand made grand gestures while he went back and forth and the other held onto something silver that was on a chain around his neck. "I know there's a fourth member because the old woman here has a strand of hair on her shoulder that doesn't match either of the others. She wears her wedding ring but it hasn't been cleaned though the center of the inside is shiny so she twists it. It hasn't come off of her finger in a very long time, meaning she's most likely a widow. She has children but lives alone, there's no smell of a man's cologne or a woman's perfume. The hair isn't anything like hers; it's finer and red, whereas hers was black before it went white. So the hair had to come from someone she was comfortable enough with to allow to hug her. It's also short and no sign of product so probably male."

"Could have been a son-in-law," Lestrade pointed out.

"Possible, but doubtful," Sherlock conceded. "Still check with that hostess and there will be a fourth member or our party here."

"How do you know it's that specific restaurant?" Sally scoffed. "There are only a thousand in London."

"Hawksmoor makes its own steak sauce. It's very distinctive. Our gentleman over here has a spot on his shirt of this sauce as does our teenager over there. The sauce is on his thigh most likely where he dropped a bite on his lap. Messy eater then. I know about the robbery because it was on the news. The lost necklace, however, was not widely publicized. The news reporter said that there was a piece still missing and the insurance company is paying out for that necklace. There is no blood splatter around the bodies so they were obviously not killed here but moved after they were dead. The bullet wounds are too small to be from that .45 and too large to be from the two .22's. Now," Sherlock took a breath and tucked the metal thing back in his shirt. "Have they been identified and where is her purse?"

"Yes, they have been identified. What purse?" Lestrade answer the rapid fire deduction and questions.

"Idiot," Sherlock replied. "What woman leaves her house without a purse? Especially one her age." He cocked his head, whirled around and grabbed another pair of gloves.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Anderson bellowed as Sherlock began to rifle through the old woman's coat. "I've already checked all the pockets!"

"Evidently not well enough," Sherlock sneered and held up a small piece of paper.

"What is that?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock put the paper in an evidence bag.

"It's a receipt," Sherlock told him. "From, oh look! From Hawksmoor Seven Dials. Looks like I was right. Four meals. Time stamped at 23:10 last night. And signed for by an Etta James."

"That would be our female victim." Lestrade sighed. "Well, we'll look into the fourth member and I'll let you know. Thanks, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded curtly. "You know where to find me. Oh, and Anderson? You might want to check the cuffs of your teenager's jeans. I suspect you'll find a few joints in there."

Lestrade chuckled, Anderson squawked and Sally gasped. "We need to search him, sir. Before he leaves. He probably took the drugs with him."

"Donovan!" Lestrade barked again. "Sherlock Holmes just solved our triple, show a bit of respect."

"Once an addict, always an addict, Lestrade," Sally retorted.

"Look, I'm only going to give the two of you one warning and then you're on your own. Sherlock has a tongue like a razor and he can read everything about you from the clothes on your back, the way you do your hair and makeup and what fragrance you're wearing." Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose again. "Don't insult him again or I'll let him say what he wishes to both of you. He was on his best behavior today because he'd made a promise. I'll rescind that promise if you push him again. Yes, he was a drug addict. But, he has three months clean. Leave that one be. Don't drive him back to the drugs just because you can't believe a junkie can get clean for good. Don't call him a junkie again or I'll report the both of you." Lestrade leveled a glare at both of them and walked off.

"I can't believe the DI brought that junkie in here," Anderson muttered.

"Did you see the way he smiled at the bodies? It's like he's glad they're dead. And the way he rattled all that stuff off? It's freaky." Sally nodded.

Anderson patted her shoulder. "He's probably some kind of psychopath."

"Psychopath or junkie, he's a freak, is what he is. Are you going to report this to the Superintendent?"

Anderson thought for a moment. "Not yet. Let's see how much time and energy the DI puts into investigating the psycho's predictions. Then, after he spends time and man hours chasing down a false lead we'll report Lestrade to the Superintendent. That way we'll have proof."

Sally nodded with a frown. "I don't want to get the DI in trouble, but…"

"If he's consorting with psychopaths and allowing them to tamper with evidence then he needs to be stopped. The DI needs help, Sally." Anderson's voice dripped comfort and concern.

Sally nodded again and stared pensively after the DI.


	2. The Freak's Flat

**Disclaimer: Yeah, they're still not mine. My magic kidnapping powers must be fading…darn it! I'll think of something though.**

The Freak's Flat

Sally couldn't help but think of the Freak, as she'd dubbed him after Lestrade asked her not to call him a junkie anymore, that afternoon as they tracked down the fourth member of the group. She tried not to. She didn't need the reminders of her biggest mistake but he seemed to invade her thoughts every time she turned around.

He had been right about the restaurant and the fourth member of the group. She didn't know how he'd known all that but she was reluctantly grateful for it. The hostess at the restaurant had remembered the four people and had even known the name of the fourth: Dougal McCray.

McCray however had a rock solid alibi for the time of the murder. His mother had taken a fall that night and was rushed to the hospital. McCray had received the call during the dinner and had left immediately to catch a train to Bath. He'd spent the entire night and most of the following day with his mother and family at the hospital. He'd been back in London less than an hour when they'd brought him in for questioning.

He did have information they had needed though. Apparently the thieves from the jewelry store robbery had run through a convenience store where all four of the group had been. At the time they hadn't known each other but they'd all seen the thieves drop the necklace. Etta James had picked it up and startled had placed it in her pocket when the cops ran through the store chasing the thieves. After the excitement they had all discussed what to do with the necklace and had eventually decided to hold on to it for a while until things cooled down. They mutually agreed to put the necklace in a safe deposit box with Etta having the only key, as they all trusted her.

The key was missing.

Sally glared at the report on her desk. Where was the key? Had the killer or killers taken it?

"Donovan!" Lestrade stood in the doorway of his office. "Donovan, I need a word."

Sally almost groaned. What had she done? She rose from her desk and headed to the DI's office, he waved her in and then closed the door behind them. Sally watched him questioningly. "Sir?"

Lestrade dropped into his chair and motioned her to take the one in front of his desk. "I'm going to ask you to do something." He started. "You can say no. But I need a bit of help."

Sally swallowed but nodded. "I'll help in any way that I can, sir." She just hoped this wasn't going to be him asking her to cover for the junk—Freak. She didn't think she could manage that.

"I do believe that our Consulting Detective, ridiculous title but it makes him happy, has absconded with some of our evidence." Lestrade's voice was disapproving but there was an amused light in his eyes. "I need you to round up some of the men and help me get it back."

Sally had visions of breaking into the Freak's flat and sneaking around the place trying to find their evidence. "How are we going to manage that, sir?"

Lestrade's grin sent shivers down her back. "We are going to perform a fake drug's bust."

Sally smiled. "It stops being fake when we find something."

Lestrade's grin faded and he gave her a sharp look. "We won't. Not any drugs anyway. I meant what I said, Donovan. Don't allow your prejudices to drive Sherlock back into the drugs."

"How can you be so sure he won't go back to the drugs anyway?" Sally asked him disgruntled.

"I've known Sherlock Holmes since he was fifteen years old," Lestrade confessed with a reminiscent smile. "In the ten years I've known him I've never seen him break a promise. He'll lie to you with a straight face and never think twice about it but if you can get him to make you a promise he'll stand by his word. He promised several different people he would quit using. He's gone three months and two days since then clean. We won't find anything in his flat except our missing key."

She nodded and went off to find some others to head to the Freak's flat. She didn't believe Lestrade but she hoped his confidence wasn't misplaced.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

The Freak lived in a borderline neighbourhood. Sally couldn't understand that. His clothes were of a very good quality, high-end tailor made stuff but he lived in a building that was one mishap from being condemned. If he had money for clothes like that why did he live in a dump?

Lestrade knocked on the front door when the bell brought no response. Finally the door cracked open and a brown eye peered out at them from about waist height. "May I help you?" A young voice asked.

"Hello," Lestrade gave the child hiding behind the door a friendly smile. "We're looking for Sherlock Holmes."

"Whatcha need him for?"

"Oh for God's sake!" Anderson growled. "Just let us by, boy!"

The brown eye widened in fear. "Anderson!" Lestrade reprimanded sharply. "Be quiet! Now then, I'm Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade and—"

"Mr. Sherlock said you'd come!" The boy exclaimed and opened the door wider. "You did come, just like he said you would."

Lestrade looked taken aback but then he shook his head and sighed heavily. "Of course he did."

Sally eyed the DI and then the bruise decorating the boy's face. She knelt down and smiled at him. "So what happened here then?" She asked gently. "Bigger boys pick a fight?"

The boy eyed her warily. "Mr. Sherlock said to only tell the DI when he came," he stated and turned big brown eyes to Lestrade. "He said you'd help if you weren't too busy being an idiot. But that everyone's an idiot so I should just make you listen."

Lestrade sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. "Of course he did," he said again. Then he hunched down to be on eye level with the boy. "So what's the problem then?"

The boy looked over his shoulder and then back to Lestrade. He drew a deep breath.

"For fuck's sake, Lestrade, we don't have time for this!" Anderson swore. "Move out of the way, boy, and let us pass."

The boy's eyes widened again and Sally grabbed Anderson's arm and pulled him backwards so that the other officers were between them and the now furious Lestrade. Lestrade nodded at her and turned back to the boy. Sally missed whatever the boy told the DI since she was busy listening to Anderson grumble under his breath.

"Oi! What're you doin' boy?" A voice from inside the house yelled. "Lettin' all my expensive heat out to warm the street? Close that goddamned door and git in here!"

Lestrade smoothly stood and suddenly the boy was standing in front of Sally and Anderson. He looked up at them considering and assessing them. "The DI says you can be trusted. Mr. Sherlock says you're idiots, but he says that about everyone. C'mon, Sgt. Donovan, you're supposed to come to my mum's flat with me and you're supposed to go with the DI to Mr. Sherlock's." He pointed his chin at Anderson. "Don't know why. He won't be happy you're there. He's in a foul mood today anyway; you'll only make it worse."

Anderson scowled at the boy and then stalked off to join Lestrade. Sally gave the boy a smile and motioned him to lead her to his flat.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

Sally supervised the two officers that were carting Mr. Henly, the landlord, to the police van before going back into the building and finding Lestrade. She had apparently missed most of the action as Lestrade was sitting across the kitchen table from the Freak with the missing necklace and the safety deposit box key in front of him.

Sally glared at the Freak for stealing evidence and he simply rolled his eyes at her with a small frown. "Henly's off, sir. We found kiddie porn tapes in his flat." Sally paused and swallowed. "Some of them have him in them, sir."

"Christ." Lestrade nodded. "Don't do this again, Sherlock. If you have a concern then just call me and I'll take care of it. You don't have to lift evidence to get me to investigate your landlord."

The Freak snorted. "I didn't 'lift' evidence," he retorted. "And I didn't want you to come here. Now I have to move, again! I hate moving, Lestrade."

The DI only snorted and rolled his eyes. "If you didn't keep all this junk, then you wouldn't have so much to box up. And if this place wasn't such a mess then it'd be a lot easier, wouldn't it?"

The Freak only stared at him for a moment. "Put that down, Anderson!" He suddenly called out without ever removing his eyes from the DI's.

"What's in it?" Anderson moved into the room with a large wooden box in his arms. He was struggling under its weight and only narrowly missed smashing the necklace as he set it on the table. "It's locked. If the psychopath doesn't give us the key I think we should break it open."

"I will not give over the key to that trunk and you will not break the lock," the Freak hissed. "There is nothing in there that would be of interest to you."

Lestrade gazed upon the box for a minute and then turned back to the Freak. "Leave it, Anderson. The box isn't important to us."

"But what if he stashes his drugs in there, sir?" Sally felt compelled to speak up.

Lestrade shook his head but didn't say anything else.

"Put the box back where you found it, Anderson. Besides even an idiot like you can see the dust collected on the top. It's obvious that it hasn't been touched in months," the Freak sneered.

Sally learned that day that there were three things in the Freak's flat that were never to be searched for drugs or even touched at all if the cops knew what was good for them. The skull that always seemed to be close to the Freak. The violin that always shined in the sunlight. And the box with its coating of dust and lock that seemed to have no key. It wasn't until years later that she learned why.

The skull was the Freak's wedding present from Dr. John. The violin was the last present his father had ever given him. The box, the most treasured item in his flat at least until Dr. John returned, was full of Dr. John's favorite things, a stuffed penguin, an ivory dagger, letters, and other detritus that Dr. John had collected over his lifetime and left in his husband's care while he was gone.


	3. Wrapping Things Up

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. They're not just one of my many toys. I don't own them. Don't say they can't go with other authors. Er, yeah. Got the idea?**

**Wrapping Things Up**

The case was fairly cut and dried after that. The Freak had pointed them in the direction of the maître d after he had seen the man badgering one of the tellers at the bank where the safety deposit box had been. When the Met had searched his flat they'd found Etta James' purse proving that he'd been there when they'd died.

During his preliminary interview Perry Thurston, alias Pierre Van DeLuc, had confessed to shooting all three of the victim's and then forcing the hostess to help him arrange the bodies. Katie Hale, the hostess had been terrified that he would shot her and had driven Thurston and the bodies to the parking garage and then placed the bodies where Thurston had indicated.

Thurston, Hale and McKay were behind bars awaiting trial for the moment. Sally had no doubt that Hale would be found innocent of any wrongdoing. McKay might get some time. He had after all hidden the necklace and was guilty of possession of stolen goods. It might be tricky though as the box had been in James' name with McKay and the others as cosigners. Thurston was going to be locked up for years though. He was guilty of triple murder, kidnapping, harassment and various other charges.

While Sally was pleased to catch the killer she was not at all pleased about the way it had been done. The Freak didn't have any business on their crime scenes. If he wanted to play at being a detective then he should join the force. Though she doubted he'd ever pass the psychological testing.

"Donovan!" Lestrade's voice cut through the chatter of the room of officers. "Got that report yet?"

Sally finished signing her name to the last page and stood up to take it to the DI. "Just finished, sir."

Lestrade took the folder and then looked at her face. He stepped back into his office and motioned her in. "You have questions."

"Yes, sir." Sally took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Lestrade's desk. She felt a bit like she'd been called into the Head's office for some offence but brushed the feeling aside. She needed to have her say. She knew better than to trust a junkie. She'd learned that lesson the hard way.

Lestrade gave her a long, heavy look and then nodded. "You can ask your questions. I may not answer them as some of the answers are not mine to give but you may ask."

Sally sorted through the thousands of questions in her mind to find the ones Lestrade was most likely to answer. "Why do you trust him? Why should we?"

"My reasons for trusting him are many," Lestrade seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "When I first met him he returned something precious that I had lost. My daughter. He found her in a crowded park and took the time to comfort her and buy her an ice cream and then find me. He didn't expect anything. He was only doing the right thing. He didn't see it that way, of course." Lestrade laughed. "The mystery intrigued him. He likes the puzzle of figuring things out. He doesn't care about social norms or society's expectations, only the puzzle. I've had ten years to try to understand him. I still don't but I do know that at his very core he's a great man. Someday, I believe he'll even be a good man. The only thing stopping him now is that he doesn't want people to see him that way. Too many complications." Lestrade gave a shrug that meant what can you do? "As to why you should trust him? I'm not going to influence you. You'll have to decide to trust him for yourself."

"How do you expect us to let him on crime scenes if you don't even expect us to trust him?" Sally asked surprised.

"He's there on my authority. I'm the only one that would catch any flak for it," Lestrade pointed out.

"I simply cannot allow you to ruin your career this way without making my objections known, sir." Sally told him stiffly. "I don't care that he says he's clean. How long until that Freak messes up? One day we're going to be standing over a body and he'll be the one that put it there."

Lestrade shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps though I doubt it." He looked up at her then. "I'm not asking you to like Sherlock. He's a very difficult man to like. I'm only asking you to keep your mouth shut about his drug use around him. He's clean and he's been very good about it. Don't irritate him or make him depressed about it. I will not allow you and your unreasoning hatred for addicts to harm him. I'd sooner transfer you than allow that."

Sally swallowed and knew he wasn't going to give her any more information. She stood and gave Lestrade one last look. "I hope you're right, sir. I'll keep my mouth shut."

Lestrade only nodded at her as she left the office.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

"Donovan," she said curtly as she answered the phone on her desk two days later.

"Serjeant Donovan, the Superintendent would like to see you at 09:30." The pleasant female voice told her.

Sally stopped cold. "Pardon? He wants to see me? Er, may I ask why?"

"I wasn't given that information, Serjeant." The voice told her. "You are to come to his office for a meeting at 09:30."

Sally swallowed and cleared her throat. "Do I need to bring any case files or anything?" She fished.

"No, Serjeant," the voice sounded exasperated. "Only yourself."

"Thank you," Sally murmured and hung up. What was that about? An idea lighting in her brain she searched out Anderson. He couldn't be very far away. He'd been eyeing her for weeks.

"Good morning, Sally," Anderson purred. "Were you looking for someone?"

"You actually," she told him and pulled him to the side of the station's kitchenette. "Did you complain to the Superintendent about the Freak?"

Anderson puffed up with pride. "I did," he confirmed. "And I've been called to speak to the Superintendent himself at 09:30 today."

"So have I," she confided.

"They just want to corroborate our stories, I suppose," Anderson said knowledgeably. "We should discuss what I put in my complaint so that our stories about the incident with the Psychopath match up."

Sally shook her head. "It would sound rehearsed that way," she objected, surprised at his mercenary tendencies. "I'll see you up there, Anderson."

"Yes, of course, Sally," Anderson seemed a bit taken aback but Sally caught a glance at the clock.

"Dammit!" She swore. "I need to run by my desk before the meeting and we only have twenty minutes." She raced away.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

"The Chief Superintendent will see you now," the secretary addressed Anderson and Donovan as she held open the office door.

Anderson gawked at the well-dressed man with the umbrella sitting across from the Chief Superintendent when they entered. Sally ignored him.

"Dr. Anderson, Serjeant Donovan," Chief Superintendent Carter intoned. "Have a seat, the both of you. Do you know why you've been called to my office?"

"Yes sir," Anderson answered. "You want to ask us about the case and the complaint I made against Sherlock Holmes and Detective Inspector Lestrade."

Sally gasped at the second name and shot Anderson a betrayed look.

"You were unaware of this complaint, Serjeant Donovan?" Superintendent Carter questioned.

Sally turned her attention back to Carter. "I was aware that Dr. Anderson wished to make a complaint about Mr. Holmes but I was unaware that he had made it or that he wished to include DI Lestrade."

"And do you support his complaint?" The man with the umbrella asked her sharply. His cold voice sent shivers down her spine but she ignored them.

Sally, who hadn't taken her eyes off of Superintendent Carter, saw Carter nod. "Not at this time, sir. I do not like Mr. Holmes. I worry that his past habits may make him a liability on a crime scene but as my only experience with him is this past case with the triple murder in the parking garage I am not familiar enough with him to make a judgment call. He was an asset during the case though he did steal evidence. Even with that he did assist us and led us to a completely unrelated crime."

"The child pornographer?" Carter asked.

"His landlord," Anderson sneered. "It was a coincidence. Even Holmes said he didn't want us to come to his flat. Yelled at DI Lestrade about moving."

"And yet the neighbor boy is convinced that Holmes called the Met there specifically to arrest the landlord." Carter returned. "It is of no matter," he waved a hand dismissively. "Dr. Anderson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes is an _unpaid _consultant of New Scotland Yard. A volunteer. I will not take action for this unprovoked complaint at this time but should you ever bring such a biased, unfounded complaint to my doorstep again I will. I am very aware of Holmes' abrasive nature, deal with it. Serjeant Donovan, should you ever feel that Holmes' past habits are interfering with his work for the Met please inform first your DI and then me."

"Yes sir," Sally told him.

"Good you are both dismissed."

As she was leaving Sally heard the man with the umbrella stand as well. "Thank you, Gavin. My brother will not disappoint you."

"It's no trouble, Mycroft." Carter answered. "Though perhaps you could convince him to accept payment? We can't protect him from lawsuits if he's a volunteer."

"You could have backed me up, Donovan!" Anderson hissed, causing Sally to miss the rest of the conversation.

"I told Lestrade I wouldn't lie for him and I won't lie for you, Dr. Anderson," Sally told him and strode off down the corridor with her head high. Anderson might be charming when he wanted to be but she wasn't about to lie to the Chief Superintendent simply because Holmes hurt his pride.

As the years passed Sally made mistakes (Anderson was one), had good times and bad, lived her life the best she knew how and moved up in the ranks of the Metro Police but she never once regretted her decision to stand by the DI. As she learned more about the so called junkie with his strange eyes and arrogant manner she realized that she'd never need to lie for him because he'd never want her too. She may never like him but she would learn to trust him but that is a story for another time.

**A/N: I know the ending is kind of abrupt but I just couldn't think of anything more to write without it sounding trite and forced so there you go. Hope you liked it. Review either way please.**


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